


Brown Eyes.

by robinasnyder



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Imaginary relationship, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Spoilers for S2e07 The Believer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28097367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinasnyder/pseuds/robinasnyder
Summary: Mayfeld has had a lot of thoughts about Mando while he was imprisoned. Those thoughts change after he sees what's under the helmet.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Migs Mayfeld
Comments: 7
Kudos: 249
Collections: Movies





	Brown Eyes.

Brown eyes. 

Why had he picked that as a nickname? It was mostly shocking that stupid bastard Hess hadn’t questioned why a subordinate was calling their superior a flirty nickname. Then again, what fucking eyes Mando had. 

Mayfeld had to accept while under New Republic lock up, that he actually had some pretty fucked up tastes. Mando had kicked his ass on that prison transport. No, wait, it wasn’t just an ass kicking. Mando was the stuff of nightmares. He was a tactical machine who couldn’t be stopped, despite having been outnumbered by both sentients and droids. He truly was a walking nightmare, but that didn’t stop Mayfeld from having fucked his hand, thinking about Mando hunting him down. 

Was it bad to get off on imagining someone killing him in a brutal way? Absolutely. Did it happen anyway? Oh yeah. 

He had those images following him around everywhere for months. Then Marshall Dune took him to the ship and told him the mission. Just getting a glimpse of a Mandalorian had raised his hopes and scared the shit out of him. He’d been disappointed and grateful it wasn’t fucking Mando. And then Mando walked down gangplank and Mayfeld knew he was metaphorically fucked (though he would have liked to be literally fucked instead). 

The entire mission had been weird. The trip in with the Rhydonium had been hellish in show many ways. Knowing that Mando wasn’t wearing his armor had made Mayfeld squirm. The trooper armor wasn’t as secure, and that meant there were less layers of fabric between him and Mando. So yeah, he’d needled the guy mercilessly. Mayfeld was still a bastard, after all, and he’s always been a pull on pig tails kind of guy when it came to showing affection. Also, he’d been pretty sure Mando would shoot him in the face if he’d known the kind of thoughts he had about him. 

They survived the trip with the fucking Rhydonium and were suddenly inside an Imperial base, being congratulated by the people they would be killing before they left. That really never had sat well with Mayfeld. Maybe what he was needling Mando with wasn’t total BS. 

But somehow, none of it, not even getting shoot Valin Hess in the fucking face compared to seeing the man under the helmet that was Mando the Bounty Hunter. 

Mando always kept himself covered, so Mayfeld really had been convinced he was half cyborg or something. But no, he was just a man. He was a man with frightened brown eyes and soft looking lips. His hair was pretty freshly washed, and his moustache was well trimmed. He took care of his appearance that literally no one else saw. He had an adorable nose and cute brows which bunched up when he was troubled or confused (which was about the only two expressions Mayfeld actually got see from him). 

But most of all, it was the eyes. That was why he told Hess his nickname was Brown Eyes. Brown was the most common eye color in the galaxy, and not just among humans, but Mayfeld had never seen eyes like that. He knew what a cold, hard bastard Mando was, but under that helmet wasn’t just a powerful warrior, but a man. 

A deeply brave man who was willing to bare his face, despite clearly being scared sick to do so, just to rescue his kid. It was a perspective shift from hell, that was for sure. 

So now Mayfeld was here, in some room he rented, stroking his cock, imagining old Brown Eyes himself on top of him. There was something deeply erotic about the idea of having Mando’s mouth, a mouth he probably had never used to pleasure anyone else before. It was an exciting thought which Mayfeld had already gotten himself off on over a dozen times. But that wasn’t tonight’s fantasy. 

He’d tried imagining Mando being soft for him, but that was impossible. After all, Mayfeld liked the horror show Mando could be. Now, his dreams weren’t the destruction porn they had been before. Instead, they were something even more troubling. 

He ran his thumb over the head of his cock and gasped. He did it again and let out another breath. In his mind, Brown Eyes looked down at him, totally in control. He was naked and beautiful and sitting next to Mayfeld, watching him stroke himself. He’d told Mayfeld to get himself off, and even though it was kind of humiliating, Mayfeld would never say no. 

Mando was watching him closely, his eyes hungry, a hunter’s gaze. 

“You’re good at this,” Mando in his head said. 

“Stroking my own cock?” Mayfeld said in real life, laughing at himself out loud in the process. 

“No,” the Mando in his head said. “Doing whatever I want.” 

“I want that,” Mayfeld whispered out loud, closing his eyes.

“No, you don’t,” the Mando in his mind whispered. “You want to be worthy of me, and you’re willing to do anything to make me think you are.” 

“Yes,” Mayfeld whispered, his mind filled with the image of the scared face of Mando, faced with Valin Hess and too stressed to think straight. That was the face of the man he’d saved, the one who was the reason he’d been imprisoned. “I want to be worth of you.” 

“You already are,” Mando whispered, climbing on top of him and kissing him. Mayfeld’s hand tightened against his cock. As his dream Mando kissed him with those soft lips, Mayfeld got himself off with another couple strokes. His body stiffened and them went boneless. 

“No, I’m not,” Mayfeld said, slowly opening his eyes and staring up at the stained ceiling. If his Brown Eyes was with anyone, it would be someone like Marshall Dune, or that bulky Mandalorian. He’d be with someone powerful or good, someone worthy of the control Mando could exert. 

He’d be with someone who was worth seeing those soft brown eyes. He would never be with scum like Mayfeld, no matter than Mayfeld had helped Mando, and had blown up the Rhydonium and helped to save the day. He would never whisper word of what was under that helmet, but he knew. He would be as haunted by those eyes, just as he’d been haunted by that powerful body and skill which had already entrapped him in more than one way. He would think of them for the rest of his eyes. His Brown Eyes.


End file.
